


A Will to Live

by lilrenthefox



Category: Justified
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Injury, Injury Recovery, PTSD, Sex, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 23:24:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21310342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilrenthefox/pseuds/lilrenthefox
Summary: Raylan has been off his game after taking a stray bullet, he knows Art had to suspend him but now that he's back on the streets with Tim he's off his game.  He doesn't realize how much this has affected him until someone takes a bullet that was meant for him, suddenly it's not Raylan who's laying in a hospital bed contemplating whether to fight to survive or just let go and wait for the end.  Tim tries to comfort an emotional Raylan.
Relationships: Raylan Givens/Original Female Character
Kudos: 6





	1. GSW

Chapter 1: GSW

Raylan’s boots clicked on the tiles of the grocery store’s floor with a satisfying sound, Tim been bragging about the deli’s sandwiches for at least a week and Raylan decided a sandwich sounded good. The hat made him stand out, and even with Tim wearing an overcoat in the cool fall weather of Kentucky, their guns were still visible as were the stars on their belts. Raylan nodded to the cashier on his way in and flashed her a smile.

“Do you have that effect on every woman you come into contact with?” Tim rolled his eyes.

“Why if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were gettin’ jealous over there,” Raylan chuckled.

“Screw you,” Tim punched his shoulder playfully, “I’m gonna grab some chips and drinks, you still like Dr. Pepper and those salt’n’vinegar chips?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Raylan replied. He approached the counter and looked over the selection.

“Good mornin’ Marshal,” the man behind the counter greeted him. “What can I get you?”

“Well, my partner usually gets the—,” he stopped mid-sentence as the man looked past him and his eyes widened. Raylan didn’t have time to turn before someone slammed into him, the crack of a gun echoed through the store. He hit the ground and his hand grabbed for his sidearm, wishing he’d put his bulletproof vest on that morning before leaving the office. His eyes scanned his field of vision for Tim when the second gunshot sounded, ears ringing he didn’t see Tim but a woman. With a gun in her hand. She was slumped against the deli’s glass case, Raylan raised his gun aiming it at her. He blinked and saw the gun was limp in her grip, though she held it in front of her still. Her hand shaking, she swept the store.

“Ma’am,” Raylan could barely hear his own voice, the aftermath of a gun going off tended to leave your hearing impaired for a few seconds. “Ma’am, I need to you drop the gun,” he got to his feet and took a small step towards her. She turned to face him, relief spreading over her face before she fell forward. Raylan caught her reflexively, Tim came sprinting around one of the aisles with his gun drawn.

“What happened?” he panted.

Raylan holstered his gun, figuring Tim would handle any other threats. He glanced up and saw he was right, Tim had his back to Raylan and the woman in his arms and was clearing the rest of the area. He took the gun out of the woman’s hand with ease, “Tim, you okay?”

“Yeah, you?” Tim’s voice sounded normal as he turned around. “Holy shit, Ray! Where’re you hit?” he dropped to a knee beside Raylan.

“I’m not,” Raylan looked down, his white button up had bright red blood soaking into it. He did a mental inventory, then it hit him. The woman in his arms shuddered, he checked her over and saw blood pooling on the floor beneath them. “Shit,” he cursed as he saw the hole in her chest, “Tim, it’s not me it’s her. Call an ambulance!” he lowered her to the floor and put pressure on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “Help is comin’, you’re gonna be okay,” he tried to comfort her, she nodded but small choking sounds came from her lips and blood trickled from the corners of her mouth. There was a bloody gash over one of her eyes from the impact as she’d fallen against one of the displays while trying to keep her balance. Her brown hair had been curly and soft, but was now matted to her head. Raylan’s eyes met hers, she drew a ragged breath and smiled at him weakly before coughing violently. Her hand reached out, groping for something to hold onto and Raylan took it and squeezed. He kept his other hand over the wound, “I know it hurts, Tim’s callin’ someone for you,” she blinked slowly and Raylan knew she was fading. “Thank you,” his voice cracked a little, “you saved my life.” Blood speckled his shirt, she grit her teeth and gasped once more then passed out.

“God dammit,” Tim pulled his cell phone out. “Deputy U.S. Marshals Tim Gutterson and Raylan Givens, we’re at Butcher Boy and there’s been a shooting. One man dead and a civilian injured and critical, send help.” He turned back to Raylan, he had both of his hands over the bullethole.

“I dunno what to do,” Raylan’s voice shook.

“Move, I have some field experience,” Tim put his gun away and knelt.

“She tackled me,” Raylan moved his hands from the wound.

“Huh?” Tim wasn’t really listening, he’d pulled her the plaid flannel away from the wound and had started searching for the hole.

“I thought I’d been shot again,” Raylan still held her hand.

“Nothin’ I can really do for this until the ambulance gets here,” Tim shook his head. “Missed her heart.”

“That’s good,” Raylan felt numb.

“Maybe,” Tim put pressure back on the wound and a small cry escaped her lips.

Raylan squeezed her hand and put her head in his lap, “I gotcha,” he didn’t know what to say. Pretty sure the woman who’d just saved his life was dying in his lap, “Help’s comin’, darlin’, just hang on.”

The paramedics got there with Art and Rachel hot on their heels, Tim moved as the medics rushed in. Raylan shot a look at Art, “I’m goin’ with her,” it wasn’t a question and Art knew that no matter what he said Raylan wasn’t going to listen.

“That’s fine, we’re right behind you,” Art drew in a breath when he saw the blood on Raylan’s shirt and jeans. “Jesus Christ, you hit?”

“No,” Raylan stood, the medics loaded the woman on the stretcher and were securing her before heading to the ambulance. “Tim’ll explain,” he called behind him as he trotted beside the stretcher, her hand still in his squeezing it tightly. He decided that was a good sign and squeezed back.


	2. Hats and Hospitals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fluff

Chapter 2: Hats and Hospitals

Raylan paced the lobby, running his hand through hair and feeling naked as he realized he’d left his Stetson at Butcher Boy. He stared out into the parking lot, lost in thought. His mother’s face in the front of his mind, well both of his mothers really. Helen’s lifeless body returns to haunt him, remembering the way she lay limp and lifeless on the table at the morgue when he’d gone to identify her body. He’d wanted to scream, and if Tim hadn’t been with him he’d have thrown himself on her and hugged her like he’d done when Arlo had finished beating him senseless. Someone had come up behind him, he could feel their presence and his shoulders stiffened.

“Raylan?” Tim’s voice.

He blew out his breath, “Tim.”

“Hear anything?” he asked.

“She’s been in surgery for almost two hours,” Raylan rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You look like shit,” Tim stood beside him and leaned against one of the support beams decorated with a painting of a sunset.

“What was she doin’?” Raylan didn’t look at him.

Tim sighed, Raylan had been off his game since Doyle, or one of the many redneck dumbasses around him at Mag’s house, had shot him. Helen’s death had fucked him up worse than he was willing to admit and the time off hadn’t done him any favors. Art couldn’t withhold all punishments for the stunt Raylan had pulled, the only way he could keep Raylan employed was to suspend him but that had come with consequences. Raylan had been quiet and withdrawn, Tim had to drag him out of the office and away from paperwork to ride along for the interview with Duffy. Tim tried again, “Ray,” using a nickname he hoped to get through to him, “you need to get cleaned up.”

“Huh?” Raylan looked down at his hands and clothes like he’d just noticed he was still covered in blood. “Shit,” his hands shook.

“I brought this,” he pointed to his duffle bag that Raylan hadn’t seen slung over his shoulder. “There’s a shower in the locker room down the hall, doctors said we could use it but they don’t want you here covered in blood. You’re scarin’ the nurses and families.”

“I understand,” Raylan nodded.

“C’mon,” Tim led him down the hallway, “they’ll come get you.”

The locker room was small and not much fancier than the one at the Marshal’s office, Raylan got a look at himself in the mirror as he came in, “Damn,” his voice sounded foreign. Blood spattered his face, covered most of the front of his shirt and had dried to a dark brown on its way down to his jeans.

“Yeah, you don’t look so good,” Tim pointed out.

Raylan toed his boots off, his shirt sticking to his chest and stomach as he shrugged out of it before peeling his jeans off. The hot water felt good, but watching the woman’s blood swirl around the drain was sickening. He lathered his hair and body quickly, the scent of blood fading from the air. He stepped out and took a towel from Tim, “Thank you.”

“You’d do the same for me,” Tim held some clothes in his other hand. “I hope they fit, you’re taller than me.”

“It’s fine,” Raylan pulled on Tim’s boxers and olive green sweatpants, large yellow-gold letters down the side of each leg reading “Army Ranger”.

“My favorite pair of sweats,” Tim nodded.

“I can see why,” Raylan slid this t-shirt over his head, plain white with a pocket on the breast.

Art met them in the lobby, “You okay?” he asked Raylan.

“I’m not hurt,” Raylan rubbed the back of his neck.

“That’s not what I asked,” Art handed Raylan a familiar looking white Stetson along with a dark brown hat he didn’t recognize.

“What’s this?” Raylan settled his hat on his head and looked over the other one.

“Think that one’s hers,” Art nodded at an approaching doctor.

“Are any of you named Ray?” he asked.

“Raylan,” Raylan offered.

“Close enough, come with me,” he motioned and Raylan followed.

“How is she?” he asked nervously.

“Surgery went well, bullet missed her heart but the force shattered her sternum, xiphoid process got broken, three pairs of ribs are in pieces and there’s a few vertebrae we’re worried about. There’s a chance she could be paralyzed when she wakes up completely, we won’t know until she does,” the surgeon was leading him down a hallway.

“You said she was askin’ for me,” Raylan was confused.

“She’s coherent enough to speak, but she’s in a lot of pain and we sedated her,” he explained.

“I see,” Raylan’s throat felt dry.

“Now listen, I don’t want her stressed at all,” he warned. “If she gets distressed you’ll have to leave and let her get some rest.”

“I won’t upset her,” Raylan promised.

“The deputies with you are not allowed to question her, and neither are you. Period,” he was firm.

“I understand, doctor….”

“Montgomery,” he answered, “if you need anything there’s a call button, it’s red, and if she’s in too much pain there’s a Morphine pump. Just press the green button until she’s comfortable, it’ll stop before you give her too much.”

“Thank you,” Raylan shook his hand.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Dr. Montgomery nodded and opened the door to let Raylan in.

Raylan closed the door behind him quietly, the room smelled like antiseptic wash. She lay quietly, machines beeping behind her head, hair wet and still half-matted to her head with blood that the surgeons hadn’t washed away still dried around her hairline. Raylan quietly pulled a chair to her bedside and put his hand on top of hers, “R-raylnnn?” his head snapped up.

“Hey, how you feelin’?” he said stupidly.

“Hurts,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” he didn’t know what else to say, “I don’t even know your name and you saved my life.”

She licked her lips, “Michelle,” she said slowly.

“Good to meet you, Michelle,” he rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, “I’m Raylan.” She smiled, then her breath hitched and she bit her lip, “You okay?” he got closer, “Doctor said you had a little button for more pain meds.”

“M’fine,” they both knew she was lying. “You get hurt?”

“Hmm? No, no I didn’t thanks to you,” he set his hat on the bedside table.

“Y’find mine?” she asked.

“Your…your hat?” she nodded, “Yeah, it’s right here.”

“Good,” she smiled, “my favorite.”

He could tell talking was painful, “Yeah, I’ve gotten attached to mine too. Kinda feel naked without it.” The door opened and Tim came in with Art and Rachel on his heels, they hung back a second and Raylan asked, “Is it okay if my partner’s here?”

“Yeah,” she looked past him towards the door and winced.

“Under orders not to question her,” he told them.

“My wife works here, her name’s Leslie, she’s gonna be your nurse. We just wanted to thank the woman who saved Raylan’s life,” Art’s voice was quieter than normal.  
Michelle smiled, “I saw,” she started and bit her lip as her chest burned. After a moment she continued, “I saw the man in Butcher Boy comin’ for him.”

“You a LEO?” Tim asked.

“No,” she smiled, “just like guns.”

“Good thing you had one,” Raylan squeezed her hand lightly. “Otherwise I’d be in that bed,” he swallowed hard, “or dead.” The room felt stiflingly small, Raylan felt himself losing grip, God he wanted a drink.

“Raylan might be a pain in my ass, but he’s a damn good Marshal,” Art smiled.

“C-can he…” Michelle shifted on the bed, her face twisting in agony. Raylan leaned forward, coming out of the chair slightly as he did.

“Easy there,” he reached for the remote to her pain meds. “You need this?”

She nodded and tried to speak again but couldn’t until the drugs started taking effect, “St-stay,” she grabbed Raylan’s hand.

“We’re gonna go,” Art patted Raylan’s shoulder, “you stay here and keep her safe.”

“Yes sir,” Raylan didn’t look up, Art knew that nothing in the world could pry Raylan from that chair even with a gun to his head.

“Tim, you stay here too,” Art motioned and Rachel followed him out.

Michelle was in and out, brown eyes finding comfort in a similar set when she woke. Raylan was there every time she woke up, Tim resting on the couch on a few of those occasions. Leslie came just like Art said, checked her over and changed her bandages. The first day and a half, Michelle was sedated so heavily she could barely move. She opened her eyes and smiled as Raylan’s face came into focus, “You need anything?” he asked, “Hungry?”

“Bathroom,” she rasped, “they aren’t gonna let me leave until I can make it there.”

“You strong enough for that?” his brow furrowed.

“With some help,” she said, reaching out her hand.

Raylan slid an arm behind her back and helped her sit up slowly, she grabbed a handful of his shirt and grit her teeth, “We don’t have to do this,” he looked at her.

“I want—to brush my teeth,” she said, her breath coming in short gasps, “and go home.”

“All right,” he helped her stand, she leaned heavily on him as she staggered to the bathroom. “You need anything else?” he asked once they had made it the few feet to the bathroom and she’d brushed her teeth.

“I got it,” she grabbed the handicap railing next to the toilet so hard her knuckles turned white.

“I’ll be outside the door when you’re through,” he half closed the door for her privacy. The heater whirred and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he waited for her to finish.

“Ray,” her voice strained.

“Yeah,” he didn’t bother knocking, “you okay?”

“M’done,” he bent down and let her put her arm over his shoulders as he walked her back to bed, dragging the IV pole behind them.

She tried to get into bed by herself, but pain hit and she collapsed. Raylan caught her, “Hey darlin’, I gotcha,” he scooped her up in his arms. She lay her head on his chest and nuzzled into his neck in a way that Winona had never done, “You all right?” he asked.

“Hurts, but this is nice,” she put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she slurred her words a little as Raylan pressed the button to deliver another dose of Morphine, “is this okay?”

“Yeah,” he curled up on the hospital bed with her in his arms, unsure if he was reading the signals correctly. “This okay?”

“Don’t leave,” she purred into the hollow of his throat.

“I won’t,” he pulled the blanket over them and closed his eyes.


End file.
